Left Behind
by daisy-chains-and-bow-ties
Summary: Post TNOTD: Clara has fractured, her thousand lives melding into one cacophonous, duct-taped-together mind. But when she finds another Clara in the Tardis' idea of a joke, things become a little…complicated. Who is this wayward echo, and who is she supposed to save?


**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters you recognise. They are the property of the BBC. **

* * *

**Left Behind: Chapter 1**

_Happiness hit her like a train on a track_  
_Coming towards her stuck still no turning back_  
_She hid around corners and she hid under beds_  
_She killed it with kisses and from it she fled_  
_With every bubble she sank with her drink_  
_And washed it away down the kitchen sink_

_The dog days are over_  
_The dog days are done_  
_The horses are coming_  
_So you better run_

_Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father_  
_Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers_  
_Leave all your love and your longing behind_  
_You can't carry it with you if you want to survive_

_The dog days are over_  
_The dog days are done_  
_Can you hear the horses?_  
_'Cause here they come_

_And I never wanted anything from you_  
_Except everything you had and what was left after that too, oh_  
_Happiness hit her like a bullet in the back_  
_Struck from a great height by someone who should know better than that_

_The dog days are over_  
_The dog days are done_  
_Can you hear the horses?_  
_'Cause here they come_

_Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father_  
_Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers_  
_Leave all your love and your longing behind_  
_You can't carry it with you if you want to survive_

_The dog days are over_  
_The dog days are done_  
_Can you hear the horses?_  
_'Cause here they come_

_The dog days are over_  
_The dog days are done_  
_The horses are coming_  
_So you better run_**  
**

_~ Florence + The Machine "Dog Days Are Over"_

* * *

Clara padded barefoot along a sloping corridor she could have sworn she'd never seen before, were it not for the Tardis' condescending creaking, reminding her that her memory was not what it used to be, back when there was just the details of one life swirling around in her head.

Now there were thousands, each vying for her attention, each sending her dreams and nightmares in equal and terrifying measure.

The barefoot situation was unavoidable, seeing as one of the many unauthorised 'guests' present within the depths of the Tardis had seen fit to filch them while she slept. Technically it was within the unfathomable abilities of the Tardis to simply increase the probability of her shoes disappearing from whichever denizens clutches they currently resided and spontaneously reappearing at her bedside, but that would be much too easy.

_Cow_, Clara thought loudly, hoping the Tardis would hear her.

Apparently it did, because the corridor lurched suddenly to the side, slamming Clara against the wall, which was suddenly denser than strictly necessary.

Why did all of her ideas have to be bad ones?

The Doctor seemed to find her every flawed quirk delightful, but that was his job – the self-appointed guardian of her fraying sanity. He didn't mind holding her through the withdrawal from cigarettes she'd smoked in another life. He didn't miss a beat when she blurted Japanese and Farsi and read Gallifreyan as easily as he read her.

_What would I do without him?_ She felt that alien, familiar fear twisting in her gut. The fear of losing him permeated every moment of her life, and of the few secrets she had salvaged from the Doctor's ancient, knowing eyes, it was the one she kept buried in her mind.

But as her shoulder throbbed and her bare feet stung with the cold, Clara couldn't hold it back.

He was like a drug now, and she found herself staying with him for longer, grinning when he asked her if she wanted to go home, pretending that everything was ordinary and exciting and dangerous. Pretending that was the reason she stayed nights these days.

The problem as she saw it was that she'd lived for him a hundred times over, existing oblivious of her purpose.

_I was born to save the Doctor._

That fact seemed to trail behind her like a second shadow, as elusive as Peter Pan's.

_If I was born for him, how can I live without him?_

* * *

"Mummy, could you please buy this for me?" Gemma proffered a marker-stained hand, clutching a chocolate bar between her stubby fingers. Oswin almost smiled at her intent, precocious stare.

Pursing her lips in mock-deliberation, Oswin scrutinised the bright wrapper, "Well, that would depend entirely upon when you intend to eat it."

"After dinner, obviously," Gemma almost rolled her eyes.

Oswin plucked the chocolate from her fingers before it could melt, "Obviously," she quipped fondly, placing it with exaggerated care onto the conveyor belt. Gemma watched it, wide-eyed, as it made its halting way along behind their shopping.

She ruffled her daughter's short ginger head of hair and dug her purse from the depths of her bag. She handed over her card with a forced smile as the amount flashed on a rectangular screen, the lime green figures seemed to mock her. She'd promised herself what seemed like a lifetime ago, when her stomach obscured her view of her toes, that she'd ensure that her daughter didn't have to live like she did, watching other children show off new lunch boxes and backpacks each September whilst nudging her ragged book bag beneath the table.

_Motherhood was the one thing I was supposed to get right._

The numbers on the screen told her a story she didn't want to know.

The smile remained fixed on her face as she hefted a conspicuously empty shopping bag, keeping one hand on Gemma's shoulder as they crossed the street, beginning the long walk to their flat. Bright red buses whizzed through the London streets and rain drenched them both. Oswin held a tiny hand that seemed frailer than it should be, and dreamed about the sun as raindrops fell down her face.


End file.
